


Fight for You

by Romiress



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Enthusiastic Consent, M/M, Mentions of Roman Slavery, Not even slightly historically accurate, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:06:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29850924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romiress/pseuds/Romiress
Summary: Bruce's favorite gladiator faces a new opponent.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne/Slade Wilson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 42





	Fight for You

Bruce half-watches the fight, in deep conversation with the man behind him. He doesn't have much interest in fights, but they're still the best place to talk business.

The pair fighting are too flashy for his tastes, too theatrical. It's all elaborate swings and fancy spins, and it's only for the sake of appearances that Bruce doesn't just leave.

Apparently he's not doing a good enough job feigning interest, though.

"They're kind of shitty, aren't they?" Harvey says with a laugh. "Is your man up next?"

"He is," Bruce says, tension easing out of his shoulders at the mention of it. "He's fighting a promising new arrival."

"I'm excited to see it. You were lucky to snag him when you did."

They half-watch the rest of the current fight, paying little attention as the winner marches out through the exit, and even less when the loser is helped away.

Really, his attention only snaps back to the arena in front of them when the announcer calls out the next match.

"Slade, the Death Stroke!"

The crowd erupts. Slade is popular, in part for his skills and in part for his story. The sort of person who is willing to come to the arena and watch the fights wants an _arc,_ and no one has a better one than Slade. Once an influential member of the army, only to be shamed and cast out. Sentenced to death in the arena, Slade lived... and then some.

Ten fights later, the emperor had commuted his sentence, making him a slave instead, but even that hadn't lasted.

And a decade on, now Slade stands at the top. He's earned his freedom, and yet he still fights in the arena for money and sport and, if Slade is to be believed, the thrill of it.

Bruce is not that sort of person. Bruce has never desired to fight the way Slade has, never been drawn to violence purely for the thrill of it.

But he can still appreciate it for what it is. He can still enjoy watching, his eyes lighting up as Slade strides into the arena like he owns the place, his lone eye scanning the boxes as if he doesn't already know exactly where Bruce sits.

Where he always sits, because Bruce _always_ makes a point of coming to watch Slade's fights.

There's a beauty in the way he moves, equally strong and almost weightless. His opponents rarely match him, but some manage to push Slade to his limit just the same. Sometimes he is handicapped, made to carry weights or given no armor.

He is not undefeated—few go undefeated for long, with the odds constantly being stacked against them—but near enough to have a significant reputation. He is allowed to circle the arena, basking in the attention, before the announcer even gets to declaring his opponent.

"Kal-El, the Kryptonian!"

Harvey leans forward in his seat, eyes lighting up at the mention.

"A Kryptonian? Here willingly?"

"Willing enough," Bruce clarifies. "He was raised here, and didn't recognize his own strength until recently. From what I understand, his fortunes were poor, and he chose to enter the arena for lack of a better option."

Not entirely uncommon. Especially not for someone like a Kryptonian. With their country gone, and the bulk of them killed off in wars, rumors of their legendary strength only seemed to grow.

"I suppose we'll get to see just how strong they really are," Harvey says. "How about a wager — I'll put ten on the Kryptonian."

Harvey's only betting to be polite. Bruce knows that in any other company, he'd be putting money on Slade.

"I'll match that," he agrees just the same, and turns his attention to the new arrival.

They've put him in a costume of blue and red, his countries traditional colors, and he looks a great deal flashier than the average gladiator as a result. It's too his detriment: Slade will be able to keep track of him more easily, and considering that Slade's greatest weakness is his limited vision, that's a major asset to Bruce's side.

They've given him a spear to match Slade's sword, but Slade has plenty of experience dealing with weapons, and the Kryptonian—Kal-El, apparently—does not look at all certain of the weapon in his hand.

Has he even had much training? Bruce thinks about asking later, assuming he doesn't wind up dead. The fights are rarely to the death, but accidents do happen, and if Slade goes too hard on someone inexperienced and unprepared...

Well, as much as Bruce pushes Slade to minimize the risk, when using real weapons there's little that can be done.

The fight starts with another roar from the crowd, and the Kryptonian's inexperience is blatantly obvious from the outset. He doesn't hold the spear right, and only barely manages to fend off Slade's two testing swings. Slade looks displeased, and Bruce knows why: he's far more invested in a fight when he thinks there's a real challenge, and he isn't getting one right then.

He doesn't drag it out. Instead, Slade presses in, aiming to cut the spear from his opponents hands. The Kryptonian is just fast enough to avoid losing a part of his hand, but the spear goes flying anyway.

That should be the end. A short and ultimately disappointing fight.

And then the Kryptonian shifts his stance into what is undeniably a fighter's one, fists raised in front of him, ready to fight.

Slade lets out a laugh, flings his sword aside, and matches the stance. He's eager for a _real_ fight, and he's hoping that the lack of weapons will let that happen.

He gets more than he bargained for.

Kal-El shoots across the arena so fast that Bruce's eyes can barely keep up. He's little more than a blur when he hits Slade, sending him sliding back several feet, even having braced himself for the impact. His people's strength hasn't been exaggerated, apparently; Slade's going to have bruises in the morning just from the one blow.

And he'll have more to match it.

There's no pause after the first blow. Instead, things escalate into a flurry of violence almost immediately. Slade brings his knee up, only just catching Kal-El, who retreats back as fast as he can and still gets caught. It's swing after swing, blow after blow. There's little space between them, never more than an arms-length apart. Everything is going so fast, and without realizing it Bruce has risen, standing at the edge of his box, leaning forward for a better view.

He isn't the only one. The whole arena appears to be holding their breath as the two titans fight, watching blow after blow and wondering which one is going to go down first.

It's Slade.

Bruce isn't even sure what happens, the actual blow all but lost, but one blink to the next and Slade goes down, hitting the floor of the arena hard. Bruce isn't sure he's breathing, even, watching for Kal-El to move in and finish the fight.

He doesn't.

He hesitates, because he knows that Slade is hurt. Probably because he hasn't truly hurt anyone before. He isn't a soldier. He isn't a fighter.

He isn't a killer.

But Slade is.

Slade senses the hesitation and turns it against Kal-El, lashing out. His ankle might break, or just give, but Kal-El goes down, and then Slade is on top of him, pinning him down with his full weight as he lays into him.

Slade's too riled up, and Bruce lets out a haggard sigh as he straightens up. The referee has to wade in and use a staff to nudge Slade off, getting him clear of Kal-El with a few well placed nudges.

The crowd loves it. Slade is popular not just for his skill, but for this—for his ferocity, for how much he _loves_ fighting.

He raises his arms over his head, basking in the roar of the crowd.

It's little surprise when the Editor gestures for Kal-El to be spared. Killing him would be stupid; the gesture is perfunctory.

Harvey offers him some coin and a small laugh.

"I should have known better than to bet against you. Sure knows how to put on a show, doesn't he?"

Harvey doesn't know the half of it.

\---

It's almost an hour before Bruce has an opportunity to descend down into the heart of the Arena and find Slade.

His wounds are being seen to, but the majority are simply blunt-force bruises. Only in a few places has his skin split, although it has already started going a brilliant shade of purple. One particularly prominent one is his temple, but there's no sign of a concussion; he's bright and aware when he spots Bruce coming, raising his head, staring him down, and then tilting his head in deference.

"Bruce."

"You fought well," Bruce says, the medic departing to leave them in peace. The room allows little privacy, lacking a door, but it's only intended for temporary use anyway, a place for Slade to lick his wounds and be seen to. When the games are over for the day, he'll leave for his home.

Not that Bruce minds the lack of privacy. He leans down, pressing a kiss to the bruise on Slade's temple, only to have Slade tip his head back, catching Bruce's lips with his own. His hand comes up, wrapped in bandages, and presses to the small of Bruce's back, pulling him closer.

"Do I get a reward for my victory?"

Slade already knows that he does. Maybe it's awful of him, but Bruce can't help but being riled up by seeing Slade in his current state—bruised, bloody, and high off the exhilaration of a good fight.

Slade is more than eager to match Bruce's interest with his own. He coaxes Bruce against him, exchanging desperate, messy kisses. His hand dips lower, and Bruce arches his back, grinding forward in desperation only spurred on by Slade himself.

Right until someone walks in on them.

"I wanted to talk to you, Slade—" Someone says, apparently turning the corner at just the right (or wrong, depending on how you look) time.

Bruce twists his head around, eyeing the man in the doorway. Kal-El, the man Slade just beat, looks surprisingly healthy. His bruises already seem to be fading, the damage Slade inflicted barely visible.

His mouth is also hanging open, gawking openly at the sight in front of him. Slade, sitting heavily on the bench, with Bruce in his lap, his thighs bracketing Slade's hips. Slade's pulled Bruce's tunic aside, showing off his back and the swell of his ass, and Bruce is fairly sure that's where Kal-El's eyes are resting.

"Sorry— I didn't— I'll go."

He obviously didn't intend to interrupt, and Bruce is content to let him go, but Slade has other plans.

"Oh, no need to go," he drawls with a tone that makes it painfully clear to Bruce that he's enjoying Kal-El's embarrassment. "I'm free to talk, if you'd like. What was it you wanted?"

Kal-El clearly wants to go, but at the same time his eyes remain stuck to Bruce's back, to the curve of his ass, to the way he is, casual as can be, resting atop Slade.

He can't tear his eyes away.

"I wanted to... to thank you for the match," he says after a moment. "It was good, even if I lost, and..." 

He really can't keep his train of thought. His interest is apparently, but so is his shame. He feels like he's intruding because he _is_ , but Slade has clearly never let something like that get in the way.

"You should join us."

Kal-El makes a small choked noise in response.

Bruce rolls the idea around in his head, giving it some thought, and inevitably comes to the same conclusion that Slade did: Kal-El would be a good partner, and he certainly wouldn't mind having the younger man in his bed.

He's young and strong, even discounting his Kryptonian strength. His black hair is tussled, and the perfect length for Bruce to comb his fingers through. His features are largely unmarred, the only signs of any damage what Slade managed to inflict on him earlier. In many ways, he's Slade's opposite: while Slade shows his age and his combat on his body, Kal-El does not. He looks fresh faced and new, to the point where Bruce can't help but feel that the only similarities the two of them have are their profession and the apparent desire to get their hands on Bruce.

"I was hoping to talk to you as well," Bruce says, taking advantage of the stunned silence. "I understand you're a free man?"

Kal-El straightens up a bit, only briefly managing to tear his eyes away from Bruce's back.

"Yes, sir."

"Have you taken a Patron, yet?"

The answer to that is a resounding no. Bruce has made inquiries in the preceding hour, so unless Kal-El was ambushed in the hallway on the way to Slade's quarters, the answer is clear.

"No, sir."

Kal-El seems deeply aware of the power difference between the two of them. Bruce outranks him by a mile, even if he isn't a slave. His posture shows as much, but his eyes... his eyes have other opinions.

Bruce swings around, no longer straddling Slade's hips, and turns to face Kal-El. He probably looks rather dishevelled, but Bruce pays it no mind. He has always been a very _take it or leave it_ sort of person.

"I'd like to offer you my patronage, as I've offered it to Slade. There are a multitude of benefits, as you can imagine."

His offerings are fairly standard, his expectations similarly so. He doesn't see any reason why Kal-El would decline him.

"And is... _that_ part of my duties?" Kal-El asks, eyes sweeping across the pair of them. Putting himself mentally in Slade's place, maybe: a seat for Bruce to sit on or do what he damn well pleases with.

Bruce suspects he'd like that, but doesn't have a chance to say as much before Slade says it for him.

"This isn't a duty," he corrects. "It's a perk." Slade lowers his mouth, trailing his teeth down the side of Bruce's neck and delighting in the way Bruce shivers.

"You should join us back at Bruce's villa," Slade adds, almost as an afterthought.

It's bold, but Slade has every reason to be. He could have any man or woman in the city, his fame proceeding him. He is picky, though; selective for no reason other then that he can.

And of all the people who have offered themselves up, he has chosen Bruce.

And now, apparently, Kal-El. Even if Kal-El's eyes are on Bruce, Slade is confident he'd be willing to share, the three of them all finding pleasure in one another.

Kal-El's hesitation only last a moment.

"I think... I would like that, if Bruce would have me."

"Oh, Bruce will have you quite a lot by the end of the night," Slade laughs under his breath, sucking a mark into the side of Bruce's neck as Bruce's breathing becomes more ragged.

He's riled up, and they still have to make it to the villa.

"To celebrate," Bruce says after a moment, cementing his involvement. "I'm looking forward to it."

\---

Falling into bed with not one, but two gorgeous men is an experience Bruce doesn't get to have as much as he'd like. Slade is a _force,_ and finding someone able to match him is challenging.

Kal-El seems up to the task.

Or _Kal,_ as he insists on being called when Bruce calls for him, summoning him into the bed.

Kal, Bruce suspects, is new to things. He doesn't have much experience, and needs to be shown how things are done. Bruce is more than willing to demonstrate, as is Slade.

Kal ends up sandwiched between them, his back pressed to Slade's chest. Slade's like a wall, offering support as Bruce leans in, capturing Kal's mouth with his own. With Slade, that's always a battle, but Kal concedes freely, letting Bruce explore his mouth with ease.

Slade, however, decides that right then is the perfect opportunity to bring up _important business._

"Why are you fighting if you don't like fighting?" He asks, and it's enough to make Kal turn away, breaking the kiss, much to Bruce's irritation.

Bruce hadn't thought about it, but he supposes that Slade is right: Kal _did_ hesitate, when he could have won.

"I don't like violence," Kal admits, obviously aware of what a problem that is for a _gladiator._ "I can fight, but I would... prefer not to."

"Doesn't answer the question," Slade says, dragging a hand up Kal's chest, hiking the fabric up to show off his abs. "Why are you fighting?"

"People won't hire a Kryptonian," Kal admits, and Bruce scowls at Slade. It's not good. This isn't... isn't anything. He doesn't know how he feels about it, but he knows how he can _fix_ it.

"Then stop fighting," he says. "I'll find you another job. I have enough sway to manage that much."

"I couldn't— You're already doing too much—"

Slade's hand snakes up, pressing over Kal's mouth to silence him, and he leans his face into Kal's neck as he tells him off.

"Then accept it. This is part of his patronage, after all. Now let him show you how much he liked watching us take each other apart."

Bruce wrinkles his nose—the way Slade says it makes him sound downright blood thirsty—but does lean in, bracketing Kal between their bodies.

It feels nice to have him pressed there, but even nicer to dip his hand low, trailing the tips of his fingers down Kal's thigh to find his cock, still half-hard despite his embarrassment and Slade's probing questions. He is, without question, on the _large_ end, and Bruce can't wait to see it get some use.

"How do you want this?" Slade asks before Bruce can, apparently just as interested in the way Kal shudders under their touch as Bruce is. "I'll let you pick, since I won our match."

He dips his head down, and works on sucking a mark into the side of Kal's neck, even if he knows it won't stay.

"You mean... which one?" Kal answers when Slade lifts his hand away. "Or—"

"You're getting both," Bruce answers, loving the gasp he manages to get out of Kal with one long, gentle thrust. "The only question is how."

It feels almost cruel to make him say it, but Bruce holds back from feeding him the answers.

"One... one in my mouth," Kal says, "and one...." His blush is so _red._ Bruce didn't know someone could _get_ that red. "One..."

"Down here?" Slade answers, and Bruce can't _see,_ but he can tell what Slade's touching just by the way Kal twitches forward, reacting instinctively to the touch.

Kal nods, and Bruce shifts his eyes over, looking at Slade for a silent discussion of who ends up where.

But in the end, it's easy enough: Bruce is perfectly happy to take Kal's mouth, while Slade deals with the work of getting him in position below.

"Hold on," Slade instructs, and before Kal can do anything of the sort, Slade simply lifts him up, letting Slade find the exact right angle to get everything a bit more comfortable. Kal ends up sitting up straight, rather than slouched, and right then he rests on Slade's upper thighs, leaving his lower half mostly exposed.

Bruce turns his attention to Kal's face as he stands, getting a good angle. He lets his hand rest on Kal's cheek, simply watching his reactions—the nerves, initially, and then the intense distraction—as Slade uncorks the bottle of oil and gets to work working Kal open.

Realistically, Bruce isn't going to get any attention either way, so he simply lets himself enjoy Kal's expressions, the way he bites at his lip each time Slade pushes a finger into him, the way his eyes flutter closed as Slade starts stretching him open.

He's lucky Slade has a lot of experience with that.

"Why don't you give Bruce some attention?" Slade reminds him, nudging Kal forward. Kal turns his attention forward, looking ever so slightly nervous as he reaches out, slipping his hands under Bruce's tunic to find his cock beneath.

Bruce is just as hard as Kal is, if not more so. Kal is gorgeous, and having him attention is downright intoxicating. That much better that he barely hesitates, leaning forward as he wraps his hand around Bruce's cock, giving it a few quick pumps before leaning in and licking the head.

He's definitely inexperienced, but he's also just as clearly enthusiastic. Really, the biggest hurdle he's facing is Slade himself, because Bruce can tell exactly when Slade pushes his fingers in from the way Kal pauses what he's doing, trying to ride out the sensation without becoming overwhelmed.

He looks so gorgeous like that, and Bruce is that much more confident in their choice to invite him into their bed.

He drags his thumb along Kal's cheek, coaxing him forward. His mouth is just as hot and wet as Bruce would expect, and outside of needing a few small nudges to remind him to keep his focus while Slade works him open, he does a good job. He's not skilled enough to deep throat—Bruce is worried he'll choke—but it doesn't matter anyway, because even just having his tongue working the head of Bruce's cock is enough. Bruce twists his fingers into Kal's hair, helping to guide him along, finding just the right position and speed.

And that works until Slade decides he's worked Kal open enough. The moment he shifts positions to start working his cock in, Kal completely loses focus, and Bruce opts to accommodate him, letting Kal warm his dick rather than actually _sucking_ it as Slade starts to press inside.

He almost regrets not being able to hear more of the noises Kal is making, because what he _can_ hear is perfection. Every movement by Slade elicits a noise, whether it be a whimper or a groan, and Kal scrunches his eyes closed, leaning his forehead against Bruce's skin as he presses up against him for support.

Like he's going to fall over just from the _sensation_ of Slade inside him.

Any pretense of a blowjob is lost when Slade starts to fuck Kal, bouncing him on his lap relentlessly. There's simply no point in trying, so Bruce lets himself watch, stroking himself in time with Slade's thrusts and simply enjoying.

Kal's noises are as delicious as he'd hoped. He's so caught up in the sensation that he barely even seems aware of what's happening around him, and seeing that Bruce is no longer making use of his mouth, Slade opts to take advantage, pushing Kal forward until he's on his knees, Slade behind him.

Bruce kneels by Kal's face, and when Kal's arms give way, he lets the man rest his head across Bruce's legs, supporting his head as he writhes, pushed past the point of words by Slade's relentless thrusts.

Slade has, in Bruce's opinion, too much stamina. He fucks so hard and so relentlessly that it feels easy to go over the edge, and Bruce sees all the telltale signs before Kal does, cumming onto the floor with a long, drawn out groan.

Slade doesn't stop. He doesn't even slow down, fucking Kal through his orgasm. Bruce almost considers getting him to stop, but outside of some particularly high pitched noises, he offers no protest of any sort as Slade pushes him past the point where most would find it uncomfortable.

Maybe it's a Kryptonian thing.

Maybe Slade's finally found someone who can match his stamina. Bruce knows Slade would like that, and for that matter, _he'd_ like that as well. It'd be good to have someone who can keep up with Slade without wringing an orgasm out of him before they even start fucking.

Kal's breathing becomes more and more ragged, and Bruce trails his fingers along Kal's jaw, providing him some distraction—and a harsh contrast—from how rough Slade is. Kal leans into the comfort, accepting all that Bruce has to offer, and when Bruce sees Slade start to head towards his own orgasm, he nods his head, giving Slade the queue he needs.

It's enough to draw Slade's attention, and he shifts his grip, moving one of his hands from where it's been holding Kal's hip in place down to Kal's cock. He works to finish Kal off the way he'd finish Bruce, jerking him off to try and give him his _second_ orgasm of the evening, just as Slade's heading towards his first.

Bruce gets to enjoy watching both of them—both gorgeous in their own right, but even better together—slipping over the edgy. Slade does so in near-silence, his expression stormy and almost pained, while Kal's expression leaves no question for if he's enjoying it or not. They don't finish at quite the same time—Slade has to give Kal a few more strokes to really finish him off—but close enough that when Kal goes boneless, Slade does as well.

Or near enough.

"Did we perform well?" Slade says, as wry as ever. Even as he asks, he reaches out, taking Bruce into his hand as he leans in, dragging Bruce into a kiss.

Bruce goes willingly. Slade is good with his hands, and even if it's not what they'd normally do, letting Slade bring him to orgasm is a pleasant experience just the same.

It's even better when Kal shifts up, pulling Bruce into a kiss right as he slips over the edge into an orgasm.

The pair of them work him through it, easing him down to join them in a pile on the bed.

The afterglow is nothing short of lovely. Bruce ends up resting his head on Slade's stomach, with Kal resting against his side.

"That was nice," Bruce finally says, breaking the silence as they curl up together.

"Should do it again," Slade says, making Kal go red.

"I wasn't sure..."

"You weren't sure if this was more than a one time thing?" Slade asks, raising an eyebrow. "Bruce won't sleep with someone unless he thinks it'll be a reoccurring thing. If he just wanted someone to warm his bed for a night, he could have his pick... but he's picky."

"How polite of you to say it that way," Bruce says with a small laugh, reaching out to touch Kal's arm. "Even if he was teasing, there was truth to it. I should have... discussed this more extensively ahead of time, but I was hoping for something more along the lines of a relationship, not just a hookup."

"But—" Kal doesn't finish his protest, but the way his eyes flick to Slade tells the story.

"Bruce speaks for both of us," Slade clarifies. "We're a package deal. Bruce isn't the first patron to be sleeping with a gladiator they're sponsoring, they're just the first where the gladiator was the instigator."

"Probably the first," Bruce corrects. "I have some suspicions."

Slade laughs at that, and Bruce turns his attention away from the man he's shared so much of his life with, towards Kal.

"I'm not saying it would work out, but I'd like to try," Bruce says. "If you're willing."

Maybe he should have done this part _before_ falling into bed with Kal, but decision making about things like this has _never_ been his strong suit. If it was, he likely wouldn't have ended up with Slade in the first place.

"I... I would be willing to try," Kal says. His eyes flicker between Bruce and Slade, and then he seems to relax a bit, offering a smile. "I mean... I'd really like that."

Slade leans in, stealing a kiss, and Bruce does the same a moment later.

It's a nice start, Bruce thinks, and he's only looking forward to seeing even more of Kal moving forward.


End file.
